


Heels

by westwoodandridingcrops



Series: Object(ified) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwoodandridingcrops/pseuds/westwoodandridingcrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless Sheriarty Smut originally written for Sheriarty week, but promises to be expanded (in oh, so many ways.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heels

**Author's Note:**

> Here are the beginnings of our smut gallery. We take requests on [Tumblr.](http://westwood-and-ridingcrops.tumblr.com/ask) We'll literally write anything. Give us a go.

Jim has a thing for Tim Curry _à la_ Rocky Horror Picture Show. At first, Sherlock thought he must be seeing connections that weren’t really there, but all the evidence points to the contrary.

They’d settled down one night to watch it. The two of them had snarled at the terrible weather that seemed to freeze the Yard and Jim’s web in equal measure. It was too damned cold, too snowy for anything worth doing. So, instead, they’d settled in and Jim had popped in the movie without a question or opinion from Sherlock.

Jim didn’t blush, he didn’t lick his lips. He wasn’t so terribly obvious, but still Sherlock read him. He could feel the faster tick of Jim’s pulse as his fingers rested casually over his hand and wrist. Interesting. Jim was feigning boredom, but he wasn’t actually bored with this, not at all. Sherlock evaluated the man on the screen—long legs, dramatic mouth, pale skin, dark hair. My, my, the spider _did_ have a preference, didn’t he?

Sherlock made no comment, but settled in at Jim’s side, smirking when Jim’s hand disentangled itself from his and threaded its way into his hair instead.

___________________________

Jim was snarly. He felt the familiar thump, thump, thump of his temper behind his eyeballs. Shit. All that work, all for some weak willed, spineless milk sop to undo it all in a moment because he was worried about _consequences_. Consequences? Jim hadn’t thought of those in years. Consequences were for average schmucks.

He was pulling at his tie even before he made his way inside the flat. Fuck this and fuck that and that and that. He was too occupied with his own rage and ripping at his clothes to notice Sherlock sitting in his usual chair, legs primly crossed. Uncharacteristically, it took him a moment to process what he’d just seen. He padded his way back into the sitting room, his shirt tails pulled out of his slacks, his tie, now untied around his neck.

_Fuck._

Sherlock was still sitting there, one long leg tossed over the other. He was wearing Jim’s very favorite smile, the one he wore when he knew he was being naughty.

Naughty. Naughty didn’t cover it.

He’d opted to keep his face clean of makeup other than a bright red lip now twisted into that wicked smile that made Jim’s trousers uncomfortably tight. His cheekbones needed no help looking angular and feline. Neither did his eyes, now locked on Jim’s, watching him watch him.

The corset was black satin, nipping in at his waist. There was the hint of a lace garter belt, presumably attached to the black sheer tights. Sherlock’s legs seemed to go on forever and ever, miles long. It was then that Jim realized he’d shaved them. They would feel like silk wrapped around his hips as Sherlock tried to pull Jim closer, even when he was buried to the hilt inside him. Gorgeous.

Down, down his eyes drifted and settled finally on the heels, black and adorned with shiny silver. Irene would have called them “fuck me” heels. Jim would have to agree. The day seemed to sublimate in the wake of Sherlock Holmes.

“Bad day at work, darling?” Sherlock asked. That voice, he’d pitched it even lower than normal, and it purred, curled itself around Jim’s ears. It was the voice Sherlock typically reserved for after sex, lazy and pleased with himself. “How dreadful,” he continued before standing and slinking his way to Jim.

The panties. They were thin, gossamer things, and through them, Jim could see the ridge of Sherlock’s crown. He was barely contained inside the lacy fabric. He was hard, then. Good. That made two of them.

“It was a terribly dreadful day, I’ll have you know,” he responded, his voice much calmer than he was. Sherlock was in front of him now, staying just out of arms reach, tempting Jim to step forward, to admit that he liked him like this. “You’ve kept yourself occupied, I see.”

Sherlock must have realized he wasn’t going to give in and instead stalked forward. He always moved with easy grace, but now he practically slithered forward until he was inches from Jim. He picked up the edge of his tie, fingering it with his eyes down-turned. “I might have.”

Jim couldn’t help it, he had to touch him. Never one for being coy, his hand smoothed down the front of the corset before finding its destination and palming Sherlock’s hard cock through his panties. There was a wet spot.

“Oh, look at you. You’ve probably been hard half the day, haven’t you?”

Sherlock gave no answer, but instead bit his lip, pearly teeth against blood red, and ground himself into Jim’s hand, while his own left Jim’s tie and instead found their way to his shoulders for balance.

“Oh come now, why don’t you let me gnaw on that lip instead, hmm?” Jim tugged Sherlock down with the hand currently not occupied with stroking the rigid heat at Sherlock’s crotch. Sherlock gasped when Jim licked his way into his mouth, sweeping against Sherlock’s tongue before nipping and sucking at his full bottom lip. He tasted like tea and the faint, clay sweetness of lipstick.

They stayed like that for several moments, Jim swallowing greedily every one of the noises falling from Sherlock’s now smeared lips. Finally though, he whined into Jim’s ear, and Jim grasped as best he could around the base of Sherlock’s cock to keep him from coming.

“Jim, _please_ ,” Sherlock moaned.

“Not a chance, Sherlock. You’re not coming until I say.”

Sherlock squirmed against him. Jim could feel the slick of his pre-come in earnest now. He was desperate for it. In truth, Jim was desperate too. He was fascinated by all these layers, but more than anything he looked forward to the undressing.

Once he was sure Sherlock wouldn’t come, he let go of him, taking his hand instead and pulling him chastely into their bedroom. He turned Sherlock around, leaning him against one of the four posters as his hands untied the delicate ribbons at the back of the corset.

“You’re like a present, all dressed up for me,” he murmured, his hand dragging down to cup a firm globe of Sherlock’s ass, still covered by the panties.

He released the corset, quickly pulling the ribbons loose and free, and pulling it off of him. His flesh was alabaster washed warm with the flush of blood rushing to where he’d been stayed in place and with the haze of early evening sun.

Jim pressed him down into the bed, maneuvering him so that he was on all fours, before sitting back on his heels, just observing the glorious sight before him.

But, this was still Sherlock. “Jim, do something. Now,” he demanded.

Jim’s hands roam up the backs of his flanks, his nails scratching. He traveled all the way up before catching the top of the panties and pulling them down to Sherlock’s knees.

“Bossy, always so… Oh, _Sherlock_.” After pulling away the fabric, he saw the silver, flat surface of what could only be a plug. “No wonder you’ve been so needy,” he crooned, stroking Sherlock’s ass. Sherlock had grown quiet, instead minutely pressing back into Jim.

Jim could feel his erection, no doubt by now imprinted with the seam of his trousers due to its utter neglect. Still, it throbbed and jumped at the sight. Jim fingered the edges of the plug where it met Sherlock’s rim, and Sherlock sighed. Carefully he slid it out, and dipped two fingers inside instead.

“You’re so ready for me,” he observed. “Already slick and stretched.”

“Mmmrph,” came Sherlock’s reply, his face pressed into the pillows.

Jim had, had enough. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He dug quickly into the side table for the bottle of lubricant they stored there. He undid the flies to his trousers and stroked himself once before scooting forward and taking Sherlock by the hips.

As he slid home inside the tight sheath of Sherlock’s body, they both groaned in twin relief. Jim set a blistering pace. Eventually, Sherlock went up to his hands, throwing his head back and groaning as Jim slapped against him, angling for that perfect place inside his lover that would make him wail.

It only took a handful more strokes before he found it, and Sherlock tightened around him like a vice.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. Jim leaned forward to stroke Sherlock’s cock, while he still pounded into the man. Their breaths were a labored cycle of inhales and exhales, pants and grunts interlaced with gasps. “Come on Sherlock. Come, baby. Come just for me.”

Sherlock cried out and a few seconds later, Jim felt the familiar slick of Sherlock’s come against his hand.

After he was sure Sherlock was satisfied, he let himself go. From his position he bit into the muscle of Sherlock’s shoulder and poured himself inside him, pulse after pulse.

____________________________

Later, they split a cigarette, giggling at the lipstick marks that had smeared both if their lips and jaws.

Sherlock lay on his back, his legs still stocking clad, the heels and panties kicked off. He crossed them again delicately, like he had when Jim had found him, one thigh crossed over the other.

“That was…”

“Something we should certainly repeat,” Sherlock finished before looking over at him with a mischievous grin, that one that Jim loved best of all. The same he’d given him earlier.

“Well, better sooner than later,” he agreed, before rolling over on to Sherlock’s chest and down they slid again.        


End file.
